


A Name Holds Power

by oONightmareOo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders is just upset most of the fanfic, Fenris is pleasantly buzzed, Hawke gets angry at Anders often, Isabela gets drunk, It has a nice fluffy ending though, M/M, so that's nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oONightmareOo/pseuds/oONightmareOo
Summary: Anders has been called many names throughout his life.  He has been called an Apostate, generalized as a mage, accused of being an abomination, those terrified have even called him a Malificar, even has been called a Blood Mage many times.  Then there were the generic Mage-insults of Robes and Spellbinder.  But nothing anyone said would gain a reaction compared to what he felt when his soulmate, the one marked with his birth name, called him such revolting titles.Aka, an excuse to have a soulmate au where your name at birth is written on your soulmate's skin.





	A Name Holds Power

**Author's Note:**

> Ebasit asabas hissera. Ebost-raas, ebasaam maraas issala toh, bas saarebas.
> 
> You are my light and hope. Without you, I become nothing, mage.
> 
> This is a sentence that I made myself using the wiki for Qunlat as a guide to the language, I am not a Qunlat expert nor am I even sure that it could be translated in such a way. The language is an interesting one, but it's also meant to get straight to the point rather than beating about the bush so a lot of words mean multiple things in the language, it's rather efficient but seems difficult to learn for someone who is a native speaker of Common. Another reason to respect Fenris, learning two languages that are not alike to his Tevene.

                He had been called many a name throughout his life, had even gotten used to quite a few of them, but it never did make him feel right to be called anything aside from his birth name and Anders. He had accepted the name Anders to the point that he had completely forgotten his own name, would need to dream to remember it and he’d just forget it after he woke, but all the other names were terrible to hear when coming from a particular person – the person he knew to be his soulmate, just because of that name on his arm.

                The name was always covered, always hidden, and Anders had only seen it when Hawke had forced the man to sit for healing – the moment he had finished, he had a split second to read the name and he heard his mother’s voice, for the first time in a long while yet he knew he wasn’t dreaming. The world wasn’t the same green tinge of the Fade and everything was clear, without a single demon whispering empty promises in his ear from behind. He had frozen in the chair and only Hawke shaking him and asking him what Justice was saying had woken him up. He had simply smiled back at her, realizing that the elf was already out the door and on his broody way to his mansion with Isabela pestering him all the way – well, until they passed the Hanged Man, then she would undoubtedly go in for some booze and to bug Varric. Maybe Hawke would join them for some Wicked Grace or tale telling.

                He had been called Apostate many a time, it was meant to be a slur against mages who were free from the Circles. But he took that name with pride, for it meant that everyone knew that he was _free_. No Templars could get to him, he was able to use his magic to _help_ others, and he could live however he wished to – well, so long as he worked for it. He had the citizens of Darktown and most of Lowtown, even a few of Hightown, looking out for him, misguiding the Templars, and donating what little they could to his little clinic. However, when Fenris said it, spitting the word out like it left a foul taste on his tongue, he couldn’t help but hate his gift. When Fenris said the word ‘Apostate’, even when it wasn’t in regards to himself, he couldn’t help but think that _maybe_ the Chantry was right for once – maybe his magic was not a gift from the Maker, but a curse instead for the sins of mankind.

                When there was no other word for someone to call him, they called him ‘mage’. Sometimes it was accompanied by a range of threats and insults while other times it was said as a ‘thank you, ser mage’. Not everyone knew his Circle given name, and Anders supposed that it was safer this way, so Anders let it slide. It didn’t make sense to get butt-hurt over a generalization, even if the word ‘mage’ had both negative and positive connotations to it. People have been both hurt and helped by mages throughout their past, he was sure, it just took an open-mind to accept that not all mages were bad just as not all mundanes were good. Someone can be mugged in an alley by anyone, not just someone of a certain race or presentation. Anders _knew_ that Fenris had more reason than anyone to despise the word ‘mage’, being a former slave from an empire controlled entirely by Blood Magic, but it still _hurt_ when Fenris growled the word at him. When Fenris spoke to him, he just _had_ to tack on the word ‘mage’, tone disgusted every time he stated the word. Every time, it felt as if someone had stabbed him through his stomach – he would know what that feeling was, after all.

                Of course, there were the people that were _particularly_ terrified of mages who had called him a Malificar or Malificarum – choose the variation, he’s heard it many a time. Whenever someone were to point at him and call him as such, he would first look at their clothes then look to see who had heard them – if he decided that one, no one was in immediate need of aid of the medical sort and two, no one was going to attempt to strike him down, he would walk out of view and allow the mundane to care for victims of a crime. If they were not victims, he would simply look the other way and continue walking. The first time he had heard the word said to him, he was appalled that someone would think he had the ability to be such a terrible person without even learning about him and had tried arguing with the person stuck in hysterics. Now, he knew to simply leave it be because arguing his case simply made the situation worse, made the person even more so terrified and infuriated due to the fear, and made even more people scared and angry. He had not once used any magic that was not healing while there and was still insulted that a large group of mundane attacked him for simply existing. But Fenris… Fenris called him a Malificar a two days into being in Hawke’s group – he had neither been there when Marian had met Fenris nor when they had claimed the magister’s mansion for Fenris and had only met Fenris by the little mage dragging the elf down to Darktown to ‘visit her favorite healer’. He had just re-broken a boy’s arm so he could set it to heal properly when he heard the angry mutter behind him. “Why are we here with this… Malificar?” Fenris had said it right before Anders heard a thunk of a slap against the back of a head and Hawke telling him to shush. Grinding his teeth, he attempted to focus on fixing the wailing boy’s arm instead of on the word – now he knew why he kept thinking of the man’s words after that, why healing was much more difficult to focus on, and why he felt like staying in bed even as the force that was Justice urged him to get out and stop moping.

                He had never heard the Qunari word for ‘mage’, let alone what they called a human mage, until Hawke had brought him, Fenris, and Varric on a mission to return a Saarebas – a Qunari mage – to their people. Anders had, quite understandably, been upset that the Saarebas had commit suicide even after Hawke had directed the other Qunari to herself and Anders as ‘Bas Saarebas’, which he assumed meant ‘human mage’. On the way back to Lowtown, Fenris had shown off his extensive Qunlat vocabulary by saying a couple of sentences Anders assumed _must_ have been insulting to Anders. “Ebasit asabas hissera. Ebost-raas, ebasaam maraas issala toh, bas saarebas.” _Of course_ , Anders only knew the ‘Bas Saarebas’ and the smug look on Fenris’ face showed that he knew this as well – the blond had to resist throwing a fireball in the elf’s face. When the initial irritation flew away with a quickly retorted line, he felt absolutely desolate at the realization that Fenris had found a new way to insult him – even calling him a foreign word, it left him feeling… he honestly didn’t have any word to describe how he felt when he remembered Fenris saying a full phrase in a language he didn’t know, he had once shut the clinic down for three days due to this, much to Justice’s disapproval.

                In all honesty, he had gotten used to being called an abomination. At least, when the normal person called him that. The first time that Fenris called him as such, the pain had shot through him as if he were hit by lightning – also a familiar feeling, seeing as lightning bolts were a favorite of many mages and Hawke herself carried a stave that channeled electric magic, but he had also gotten used to this strange parody of the feeling. Before this first time that Fenris said it with derision, he had disregarded every mundane and Templar that had called him as such – after all, there was no way to expect to not be called an ‘abomination’, no matter how often he informed people that Justice was a _Spirit_ , not a _demon_. Even Hawke had joined that parade for a little while. Now, anyone who said the word _abomination_ near him gained a flinch from him – not for the reason that everyone should believe, of Justice getting angrier and more like _Vengeance_ than the kind and naïve spirit of Justice, but because it reminded him that Fenris believed it to be so.

                Then there was the much-dreaded use of the title ‘Blood Mage’. Merrill was a Blood Mage, she had the scars and the ability to talk endlessly on the topic as if it were a _good_ magic to have connected to your name. The Hero of Ferelden, himself, carried around a Shape-shifting Blood Mage by the name of Morrigan and had tried to convince Anders of the merits of the accursed magic before he had joined with Justice. The only scars that Anders bore were the ones from battle, the ones from the Templars, and the scar he had gained from Justice. There was a time where Anders couldn’t help but grudgingly ignore when people would shout that at him, after all Ser Pounce-a-Lot was very liberal when laying out clawing punishments for Anders whenever Anders jostled him around a bit too much or didn’t feed him food he liked, but now that wasn’t a problem. The Grey Wardens had made him get rid of his beloved cat and he hadn’t yet picked up another one due to Justice’s dislike of pets, so he wasn’t walking around everywhere with thin raised red lines all over his arms. Yet, there was a time where Fenris accused Anders of being a Blood Mage as well – well, accused is a little strong of a word, let’s try _speculated_. No matter which word one used when speaking of how Fenris talked about Anders possibly being a Blood Mage, Anders would always remember the feeling of being accused for something he never did. As if his lover, whom he had never turned eyes away from, accused him of cheating. It hurt but it also caused rage to pool up in the bottom of his stomach, knowing that he had not given any reason aside from having a Spirit within him to be thought of as a Blood Mage. He had stated on more than one occasion that Blood Magic was abhorrent, that any mage that fell to that level should be given the mercy of a swift death and not allowed to continue for one moment longer.

                Of course, there were also the insults that other mages felt were unnecessary to be spoken about them, such as Robes or Spellbinder. It made no sense to Anders on why anyone would feel that those were insults, until Fenris called him a Spellbinder. Everything around stopped for a moment that one time, as if someone had cast a Winter’s Grasp on Time itself, before Anders remembered how to breath and told Fenris to sod off. From that moment on, Anders understood, at the very least, that having your soulmate speak these insults to you was why anyone would feel they were as such.

                When realizing that simply having Fenris say one word would cause a hurricane of pain and related emotions to swirl within him, it was almost a mercy when Danarius came. Anders figured that the way the scenario would end would be with Hawke giving up Fenris, since she would choose whichever way she could to get out of any unnecessary conflict, but he should have realized that her hatred towards the slave industry was stronger than her hate of battle. The girl, Varania, was Fenris’ sister and introduced him to his real name of Leto – the same name written in large fancy letters from shoulder to shoulder across Anders’ upper back, which further proved that any doubt he may have had about the name on Fenris’ arm being his or the pain he felt when insulted being a fluke was wrong and were to be cast aside. Anger at himself for not being good enough for his soulmate had caused him to say, albeit under his breath, “Good riddance” when Danarius claimed to want Fenris back. He knew the others had heard him when even the filthy magister gave a dirty smirk in his direction, and he wanted to take those words back – luckily, he had his chance when Marian proved to hate slavery more than she hated conflict.

                At the end, when Varania had fled while imparting the knowledge that Fenris had fought for his position, Anders found himself pinned against the wall. “Anders, how could you?” Hawke’s eyes held anger and tears, probably infuriated by his statement before. Normally, Anders would be civil about it. Normally, Anders wouldn’t be so angry.

                “Look, I’m covered in blood and my robes are torn in places I will need to mend before anything else happens – I’m tired, you’re tired, he’s probably had some emotional train wreck go on, and Isabela looks like she really needs a drink. So, let go, and I’ll be on my merry little way back to my rathole.” After a few more moments of the shorter woman pinning him and glaring at him, she finally pushed against him and stomped out of the Hanged Man. Assuming both Isabela and Fenris were already gone, he shucked the robes off to carry over his arms on his way back home. Not even the shirt he wore underneath was saved from being shredded though the wounds he had gained were all healed by now. He could feel where the empty spaces were on his shirt without even looking and knew that this shirt was going into the fire as well since it was not salvageable. An excited noise behind him alerted him that his assumption from earlier was wrong.

                “Your soulmark! I knew you had one!” Isabela’s voice caused Anders to freeze, turning towards her before she could read the name. “Aw, come on, Sparklefingers! You hid it from me for so long now, you think I didn’t read it _before_ I said anything?” Wiggling her eyebrows, she glanced between the elf that was completely spaced out and Anders. “So, sweet thing, your sister said your name was Leto, right?” Her arm over his shoulders was the only thing that brought Fenris out of his thoughts.

                “That is correct.”

                “What does your soulmark say, exac-“Anders grabbed the pirate, placing a hand over her mouth so she couldn’t talk any more.

                “Oh my, here I thought that you went into the battle sober – was that why your knives were slower than usual? I should really get you to bed now. Elf.” Nodding his head in a mockery of civility, he dragged the pirate up the stairs and to her room while ignoring the prick of pain that lanced through his chest at the glower said elf fixed on him.

                The moment they were in her room, he shut the door. “You will not say anything.”

                “Come _on_ , you can’t expect to tell me that you don’t want to tell your soulmate that you found him the day that you found him!” Isabela had gone through a lot in her life but the one thing that she truly missed was when she had her husband, her soulmate, alive and well – not that she liked to talk about it or mention it or anything of that nature. The silence that greeted her statement caused her to rethink it. “Wait, you’ve known for a while now, haven’t you.” It was still very much a statement, not once breaching the border into a question, but he flinched nonetheless.

                “Three years.” His voice cracked in the middle of the word ‘years’ before he found he could not silence himself. “Three years, knowing he was mine as I am his, knowing I could not tell him for he would more than likely think it to be a lie, knowing that he would accuse me of attempting to capture him like the magister once had. Three years of me hearing him say numerous insults and never having him listen to me, of him never once saying a kind word aside from when urged by Hawke, of me needing to cover it up by being just as mean to him so he wouldn’t ignore me or leave. Did you know that he believes the name on his arm is Danarius’? He can’t read, so I couldn’t give him proof of any of it being truth.” He stopped himself before the tears manifested, looking up at the ceiling so they didn’t fall from his eyes. “Just… leave it alone, Izzy.” With that, he strode out with his cloaks in arm, painfully aware of his – no, the elf sitting at the bar attempting to drink himself to next month, before making his way back to dirty, damp Darktown.

                A week passed from that time, a full week that felt more like a month with the amount of sick he helped and injuries he healed, before he was invited to a game of Wicked Grace. Everyone would be there, to celebrate Sebastian and Hawke finally entering into a relationship with each other, and he just knew there would be dirty jokes galore from Isabela, probably involving the Chant of Light and defiling the Chantry – and who, in their right Chantry-hating mind, didn’t want to be there for that? But he had also gone with the assumption that Isabela had let it drop.

                “So, Fenris, have you found your soulmate?” No one had even gotten tipsy before Isabela asked that question, getting a glare from Fenris and a warning look from Anders, then she gasped, so fake in Anders’ eyes it was painful to watch. “Don’t tell me, was it Danarius?!”

                “No.” Fenris snapped, a sneer gracing his face almost elegantly. “It does not say his name.”

                “Oh? Who’s name is it?” She leaned forward, eyes bright and excited. She had been trying to get Anders’ real name from him for the longest time, it only made sense that she would attempt to get it from someone that knew it but was unconnected. Unfortunately, Hawke knew his name. She would make the connection, would remember from that time that she had talked with him about his dreams. Then she would be livid with anger, absolutely furious with Anders, as she believed a soulmate was something to be treated as precious.

                “That is none of your business.” Fenris snarled at her, irritated with her lack of understanding for privacy no doubt.

                For the next few hours, there was everything from pleasant conversation to Anders-put-out-your-fireball-and-Fenris-sit-back-down-and-stop-glowing conversation. Anders had, once again, forgotten to watch out for Isabela talking about the soulmark and was caught off guard when explaining the different medicinal uses of dawnstone to Merrill as Isabela started questioning Fenris again – assuming she was just about to tell another story of her sexual conquests or tell a joke about the Hero of Fereldan, who was also in the sexual conquest stories. “Fen~.” By this time, the only ones not halfway to drunk were Sebastian and Anders, one because of vows and the other because… yeah. Everyone already knew Justice had a stick up his arse when it came to things that made no sense to him. It was rare enough that Anders was allowed to go to the Hanged Man without it being a quest or for business, he didn’t want to push his luck by ignoring the Spirit for some spirits. “Wha’s da name on yer arm~?” Fenris was not a lightweight but he was also not completely immune to the effects of alcohol. At the moment, he was completely relaxed – which meant that he would also be more willing to answer questions.

                “Hey, Isabela, your turn!” Panicking, he grabbed Merrill’s empty tankard and threw it at the pirate who just barely managed to catch it. Unfortunately, it had grabbed everyone’s attention as it went silent when Isabela turned the tankard to look at it, seeming to pout when she realized it was bone dry.

                “Oh! Um, that’s alright, Isabela, I’ll get my own refill!” Merrill was really the one in charge of getting everyone a refill, this turn, if the barmaid of the night didn’t notice the empty mugs – Anders was just grasping at straws due to his unexpected panic.

                “No no! I mean, you look a little wobbly there, I don’t think you should be walking, much less walking down stairs!” Panic was not good for him, even his smile felt extremely awkward and forced. “Isabela will be fine, I’m sure!”

                “But I waz askin’ a question!” He glared at her Cheshire grin, knowing she wasn’t drunk enough to not know what she was doing, before he flicked a small lightning bolt at her under the table. It wasn’t enough to hurt but it had enough of a shock behind it that she was immediately standing up and rubbing her knee. “Fine, fine, I’m goin’ already.” She grabbed the mugs around the table quickly before going down to get the refills. Noticing the weird looks he was getting, he turned back to Merrill quickly.

                “My point is, dawnstone is not only something to use as a material to make armor or weapons.” He went straight into the conversation again, ignoring everyone around the table. “Those are just the primary uses.”

                For the next hour or so, this was how it went. Isabela would bring up Fenris’ soulmark, Anders would interrupt before Fenris could answer, then threaten her with magic. Once he had even managed to initiate skin-on-skin contact with Isabela, using a burst of healing magic to distract her – the same thing that he used to do when he worked for The Pearl, that she so fondly calls a ‘lightning trick’ even though it most certainly is not. He had to say, though, he wasn’t expecting her to crumple to the ground with an obscene moan and he winced when he realized he either used too much or she is way too drunk for that. Finally, Marian had gotten fed up – even when drunk, she had both patience and anger towards these types of situations. “Anders, what in the _Fade_ are you doing?” He blinked at her with a false innocence.

                “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.” Her glares had the potential of being scarier than a Rage demon’s fire.

                “Why are you bothering Isabela so much? She is simply asking a question anyone can ask, it’s not as if Fenris ever told her that she can’t ask him.”

                Anders sighed, not even noticing this time when Isabela asked Fenris. “I have a very particular reason to interrupt this questioning and I would prefer to tell you la-“

                “Faiz.” Anders’ voice ended when he choked at hearing the name. “It says Faiz.” And, of course, Hawke heard it, according to the shocked expression and disbelieving stare. Then, of course because why would Andraste or the Maker have pity for him, Isabela immediately turned towards him with a saucy grin.

                “Faiz, zounds sexy. So much sexier than your name now, Sparklefingers. Why don’chu go by tha’ name?” Eyebrow twitching, he stood up and walked over to her.

                “Faiz died when he was a kid, now you just have me. Sorry.” He poked her chest, just above her cleavage, with the same burst of healing magic. Must’ve felt really good when she hit the ground. Without looking back, he stepped over her fainted body and strode easily to the exit, leaving quickly. He could feel disapproval radiating off the entity that was Justice, reassuring him that it was a good feeling that he left Isabela with not a bad one, but even after that reassurance the Spirit was disapproving of Anders. He supposed that it might have been that Justice saw Anders running from the situation, not confronting it as the Spirit thought he should.

                Blissfully, he was left alone for a long while after. Unfortunately, that meant he was alone for a long while afterwards.

…………………………………

                He stared down into the foggy abyss that was below his childishly kicking feet. He knew as a matter of fact that below the early morning fog, there was water. Dirty water and probably a large amount of dead bodies. He also knew that there were a few dead Templars down there as well, from before he met Hawke. Whenever he felt like sitting and thinking, he would go through the right doorway rather than the left one and sit on the ledge to stare at the water – or, in this case, at the fog.

                Thing is, he didn’t know what he wanted to think about. He had already exhausted his normal topics of the mage plight and the injustices brought on by Templars, the only thing he could think about otherwise was what had happened over the past three years and then the past month. It had been three weeks since that night in the Hanged Man and he had seen neither hide nor hair of Hawke or any of her companions. He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that any one of them were his companions. They were all… acquaintances, at best.

                Isabela may have felt some sort of familial tie to everyone in the group, as if Anders were her real brother (that she had no problems sharing a bed with) or something along those lines, but he saw her more as the little girl down the road who had gotten attached to him after he fixed a scrape on her knee or something else to that effect. Sebastian and Anders each had their own opinions and the choir boy was nothing if not happy to argue with the mage, thus causing a lot of hate and anger between the two of them. Heck, Anders probably fought more with Sebastian than he did with Fenris. Hawke, he could see himself becoming friends with, at the very least, if she actually came around to talk with him – but she was more interested in staying away from his sewers than she was in talking with him. She only came down when she needed a particularly dangerous wound healed or she wanted him to go with her on a quest for something.

                Merrill was bearable, if only because she was polite enough to not completely blank out when he spoke to her. She was also very curious about medicine and the like, even if she was unable to learn light magic due to her dealings with black magic. Aveline and her husband, Donnic, were okay if neither of them were accusing him of something. Bethany and Carver focused more on bickering with each other than they did on anything else, something he supposed was a sibling thing more than any other thing. But Fenris…

                Fenris hated him. There was no way Fenris would look at him any other way besides with hate, even if he had completely understood Isabela and Anders when they were speaking about Anders’ birth name. He may not have understood, since he hadn’t yet come down in three weeks to kill Anders. “It isn’t like there’s much left of me for him to want. Abomination, mage, Grey Warden – my time’s almost up anyhow.” He felt the reaction from Justice, his eyes narrowing at the disappointment. “Shut up, Justice, you’ve been telling me for three years that I shouldn’t try, why are you suddenly disappointed in me for being a coward? Even if I were to go up to Hightown and drag that broody elf out of his broody bed, he would probably just kill me and shorten my already shortened life.” Scratching at his bare shoulder, just above the scar that marked where _Leto_ was written, he sighed at his great luck. He can’t be free, because he’s a mage. He can’t have a cat, because he’s a Grey Warden. He can’t have a soulmate, because he’s an apostate with a voice in his head and would just leave them in a few years due to being a Grey Warden. The Maker hated him, it seemed. “Must be because of the long list of jokes I’ve made about his bride.”

                “L…” Startled, Anders jumped to turn around and defend himself in just his trousers with no staff to help him. A hand each on his shoulders kept him in place though, his head turning to see a tan hand with white markings. That was strange in and of itself, seeing as Fenris always wore his gauntlets and never took them off without being prompted or forced to do so. “E… T…” The hand on his right shoulder dropped down to trace the very last letter in the loop, Fenris’ voice coming with a finality. “O.” Twisting his torso around to look at Fenris, green-gold eyes meeting his own amber ones. It didn’t look as if the man was going to rip his heart out and push his body into the river below – then again, he had been wrong about many things before. “Leto.” The left hand, which had followed Anders’ left shoulder forward when he had turned to look at Fenris, gently slid across the name. Honestly, he was still waiting for the desire demon to reveal itself to show that he had been in the Fade all along or for the hand that is being so gentle, gentle enough to cause a shiver to run down his spine even if it was humid as all get out in Kirkwall, to suddenly reach inside him and steal his heart in a different way from before. “You’ve known for three years?” It didn’t sound accusing, Fenris’ voice, but curious and interested. “We’ve only known each other for three years.”

                “Uh, how… much did you hear?” Hesitant to ask even this, all he received was an apathetic shrug and a loss of eye contact as green-gold eyes trailed back to the fancily looped letters across shoulder and muscles.

                “More than likely all of it for it was silent when I came into your clinic. Look forward again.” Following the instruction, or order if you will, he nervously began kicking his feet again. “When did you learn?”

                “The… first time I healed you.” Beginning to just kick the ground under his ledge with his right foot, Anders also started to rub his left palm with his right thumb. He wasn’t sure how to take this situation. “Hawke forced you to come down to see me when you had a… large gash across your bicep. You had to take off your gauntlets and I saw the name when I was done healing you, right before you pushed me away and stormed off. Around a week or so after we met.” Haltingly explaining this, Anders couldn’t help but notice that skin contact with Fenris quieted Justice – no, more accurately, it drugged Justice. He could feel Justice but it felt different, as if the Spirit were dazed and sitting in a darkened corner, barely noticeable and he could think for the first time in such a long time.

                “I… see.” Fingers tracing each letter and loop, barely even putting pressure on the sensitive skin, slowly but surely, something Anders knew he would not be able to do if he had the ability to do the same. If only because of how small it was written across the elf’s arm, meanwhile the size of the other’s birth name would take up _at least_ two sheets of parchment. That’s not even mentioning the distance of the top of the L to the bottom of the T. “Then all this time…?”

                “Automatic reaction. It’s easy to forget that you’re who I’m searching for when there’s another presence who doesn’t understand the purpose of soulmates and soulmarks.” In the silence that follows, the fingers don’t hesitate in their path to the final swirl and drop which prompts Anders into continuing, if only to get rid of the awkwardness he felt. “Justice… disapproved… of you, as a distraction. He believed that if I pursued anything with you that I would forget my purpose in Kirkwall to help free the mages. Seeing as he’s nearly comatose at your touch, it makes a little sense now. Of course, a lot of things make more sense when he isn’t guiding my thoughts.” Feeling as if he may have said too much, he forced himself to not talk anymore about Justice as the nimble fingers found the drop off.

                “Where did this come from?” A change of topic as those same fingers found the raised line straight across the name that only slightly warped the looped letters.

                Anders chuckled mirthlessly. “When you have a soulmark as large as mine, it catches unwanted attention. Karl had his soulmark, a small one that was near indecipherable, on his hip. He didn’t get as noticed as I did until he started to associate with me. The Templars took it different from what it was, believed that maybe we were going to ignore who the Maker set on our path, so they did us a ‘favor’ by carving a line across my back with a magebane coated dagger. That is the scar that remained.” Anything that Fenris may feel, whether positive or negative, upon hearing the shortened version of the story was not betrayed by his fingers as they remained steady and sure in their path. They found other scars along Anders’ back, each one either being explained at a prompting or brushed off as forgotten – even if not a single scar was without their story and those stories he knew by heart. By the end of Fenris’ exploration of his back, it felt as if Fenris knew more about him than even he did.

                Fingers once again rest at the top of his spine, spanned out over the letters. “I do not recall a time that I was called by this name, but I am now aware that it was at one point mine. I recognize it with a strange sense of familiarity, more than I recognize the name Danarius gave me, but I do not believe that I am Leto any longer. Yet…” Hesitation entered his voice as he drew his fingers away, Anders not daring to turn to look at the tanned elf. A hand returned with more force than the fingers ever pressed, not enough to feel as a push but enough to actually _feel_ Fenris’ hand – all the callouses and scars born from all the sword-work he did, even the bumps left over from a broken bone healed improperly. “Yet I desire to have what this name has taken, if you will allow.”

                “Even if Faiz is no longer who I am, even if Faiz is long dead? Dead where his father betrayed him and the Templars beat him to unconsciousness before taking his body? Even if it is now Anders in possession of Faiz’ body?” Staring down at the rocky face of the cliff on the other side of the river, he awaited the answer from Fenris.

                He was not disappointed. “For the longest time, I believed that it was Danarius’ name carved upon my flesh. I neither knew how to read nor had I seen his name written for a comparison. Hawke had taken the time out of her schedule to teach me to read, with some help from Sebastian. I had asked Sebastian to write down the names of our companions, including your name, before I began to list names that came to mind. When we got to Danarius, it had confused me when it took him so long to write that one in comparison to yours since it seemed so short on my arm. So, when Sebastian left, I had compared the two. Then I tried to recall the letters that made up the name, each taking their own time. Faiz is nothing like Danarius. Knowing that I am acquainted to the person who has owned the name before is a larger relief than knowing that Danarius is not the name on my arm.” He paused before he continued with an amused tone. “Even if the person is an apostate abomination with Grey Warden blood.”

                “Of course you heard all that.” A huff of a sigh and Anders turned back towards Fenris. “So, you’re willing to see if the Maker wasn’t trying to set us up for failure then?”

                “I would… be agreeable to exploring the possibility. I have… appreciated… and longed for more for a long while now but was unsure how to approach – I figured that staying the same would be more welcome than suddenly changing, since you seemed to dislike my existence.” Even with the poor lighting and his tanned skin, Anders could tell that the elf’s ears were red as Fenris turned his gaze away in embarrassment and seemed to have more of a difficulty saying such words when Anders was looking at him.

                Chuckling, Anders reached out to poke the elf’s forehead. “That’s not exactly the right way to convince someone that you don’t despise their guts but…” Anders smiled at Fenris, his features softening even as he felt Justice waking from his drugged coma. “I would like to explore the possibility. As long as you don’t say anything about Justice or mages, unless it’s agreeing with me or changing your opinion about them, I think we can have some good conversations.”

                Fenris’ lips did a slight upturn motion, it took a moment for Anders to realize this was his version of a smile, before he stated, “Likewise to you, mage, so long as you don’t bring up Tevinter or slaves. Or your own taboo topics.”

                “I think I can agree to that. Let’s start simple.” Anders grinned cheekily, pulling his legs up onto the ledge to properly face the elf.

                “What’s your favorite color?”

                “Is that sincerely the first question that came to mind?” A doubtful gaze held his own.

                “Well, I’ve realized I don’t know what it is.” Raised eyebrows with a gentle smile.

                “Very well, I suppose that I shall play along.” Fenris shook his head in amusement, chuckling.


End file.
